


Not Like This

by specialdestiny



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, buckynat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialdestiny/pseuds/specialdestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not like this. All the ways he’s ever considered going out, it was always in a blaze of glory — as close to being a hero as a guy like him could manage. Not like this. Mind addled, body frail, hair white and teeth gone. Not attached to four machines each preforming a different function for him; and most of all, not with her standing there, looking as beautiful and young as she did in his every dream, staring at him like the greatest tragedy she’s ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like This

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. **Not like this.** All the ways he’s ever considered going out, it was always in a blaze of glory — as close to being a hero as a guy like him could manage. **Not like this.** Mind addled, body frail, hair white and teeth gone. Not attached to four machines each preforming a different function for him; and most of all, not with her standing there, looking as beautiful and young as she did in his every dream, staring at him like the greatest tragedy she’s ever seen.

It began decades ago, when he finally stopped taking Fury up on his offer for the injections. The wear was starting to get to him, affect performance. He didn’t think much of it at the time. He’d never been like Steve, never been like Nat. Hell, he had never wanted to be. It wasn’t what he was cut out for. But when a few years turned to ten, and he watched friends begin to get too old to keep fighting like they used to, it was only then that he noticed his own reflection.

Gray hairs here and there, wrinkles creasing around his eyes, joints just a little more stiff than they should be. Used to be he didn’t look in the mirror because he didn’t like facing the man he saw, but what was he supposed to do when he looked now and saw a stranger? 

If his appearance bothered Nat, she never let on. She still kissed him the same, they still made love like like they were kids. Even when he started missing shots, and not getting up from hits, she just gave him a smirk and pulled him to his feet — rattling off something about him getting rusty. And it was funny — until it wasn’t.

Years passed, and eventually he had to stop fighting. He had to find other ways to fight the chaos and the ghosts in his mind. He had to sit feebly while Steve and Natasha went off, saving the world in their eternal youth. Even now, he didn’t envy them. He hated feeling weak. Hated feeling useless — but he didn’t want to live forever. Never had. Joining the army wasn’t just to get the girls, or because he wasn’t good at anything else. He had gone in assuming he wouldn’t come back, but then he did. Came back fighting for the other side. Came back a weapon. Came back a different man — but that man met a girl. The only girl he’d ever really loved, and the only woman who had ever known how to love him.

Then there was Steve, with his impossible shadow. He’d never quite lived up to his friend’s expectation, he was sure, even if Steve was too nice to say it. He knew the weight of that shield, and yet he’d never understand how Steve bore it. 

His head turned against the stiff white pillows beneath him, eyes struggling to make a clear image of the screen that read out his pulse to him. He felt…heavy. All of him was heavy. His left arm was less than a stump at this point, the prosthetic having gotten to be too much to manage some years ago. Even despite it, he could still feel the hand that once was. The doctors called it _phantom limbs_ , but he thought it was something more. A phantom limb wouldn’t be remembering things it had never felt. Like brushing hair out of a lover’s eyes, or gripping onto a shield he never should have carried…

His eyes fell shut for a moment, and when they reopened, she came back into focus. She had been crying, he could tell. He always could tell, even when she tried to hide it. A weak smile cracked at his dry lips, but he only really looked like he was grimacing. His damn body couldn’t keep up with his mind anymore. 

Days, at best, the doctors had told him, hours more likely. 

"When I said — " he spoke in a voice he could hardly recognize, shaking, frail — rasping. " — when I said I wanted all the girls to cry at my funeral, I didn’t mean for it to be you. You’ve never been a pretty crier, Nat," he offered in jest, a small laugh turning into a cough. 

She tried to laugh, smiling down at him like he was something he wasn’t. Had never been. Her hand found his, and squeezed tightly. “Then I guess you’ll have to hold out a bit longer,” she replied gently. “Steve’s on his way. I called him as soon as the hospital called me.”

 _Steve_. Steve was the last person who should see him like this. He didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. Having to stand it from Nat was bad enough already. His throat felt dry and sore, and his mind seemed to fade out of thought for a time. When he came too, Nat was standing over him, more tears in her eyes, relief seeming to wash over her. Though it felt like it had only been a few moments, he had to assume it was longer than that for her to look so worried.

"They say — " he coughed again, this time tasting the coppery tinge of blood with it, head spinning more violently. A chill seemed to set out in his body, a strange inexplicable frost settling into his very bones. " — they say I — " words suddenly were a struggle. Memories seemed to get jarred into a muddled fray of other memories. "They say a few hours," he muttered, somewhat deliriously. "Hours," he repeated.

A silent choked up sound left Natasha as she lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a light kiss to his palm. “Well it’s a good thing we both know that trick never works,” she said, and somehow that seemed to jar loose enough memory for him to laugh, lips pulling into a wide smile, tears stung at his eyes at the memory. For a few moments his heart swelled and throbbed with nothing short of absolute love. 

His laughter seemed to lift him, he felt like he was floating out of his bed, his body finally free and weightless of all that had kept him down, a soft, welcoming darkness seemed to fill his peripheral vision, like easing into the best sort of sleep. Warm, safe, with a girl at your side… 

Eventually, there was nothing.

In moments he had gone from laughing, to letting out a final puff of air, and then the machines all sounded an ominous, continuous monotone. A steady cry that had once been a slow and steady beeping rhythm. Natasha’s grip on his hand did not lessen even though tears began to spill from her eyes and her whole body shook. Her heart was gone. He took it with him, she’d had to watch him die after all. 

 

There was no word that could do anything in the moment, all at once she finally understood the true meaning of sorrow. From her silence a screaming sob was ripped from her throat, birthed from a painful knot that had been settled there as she kept up her brave face for him. He didn’t need to die afraid. He… _**died**_. 

Throwing herself forward, face pressed into his chest, Nat sobbed freely, tears soaking through his thin hospital gown. Nurses shuffled around awkwardly just outside his room, but she couldn’t hear them. She couldn’t hear the flat-lined monitors. She could only hear her own pulse pounding in her ears, and feel bile churning in her stomach. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from shaking as she laid there next to his cooling body, wishing for more time. Wishing she could have gone with him. Wishing for everything she never had, and never would have.

From behind a figure appeared in the doorway, hunching over almost immediately as he caught himself on the frame, feeling his world shatter around him. He’d missed it. Steve could barely hold back his tears as he moved inside, just staring at his friend’s peaceful face. Stoic had always been a good word to describe him, but in that moment he didn’t care how many tears fell. Moving to Natasha, he set a hand on her back, and she raised her head, spinning to look at him. He was taken aback, he’d never seen her cry. Never seen her sob.

Suddenly she was flinging herself at him, saying the name James over and over. His arms wrapped around her, trying to offer what comfort he could. It was really just the two of them now. The others had all slowly been picked off by either old age or reckless living. But Natasha, himself — they would likely never succumb to this kind of fate. They’d keep fighting. Keep watching the people they loved wither and die. 

His jaw set in a tight clench as his eyes closed, and he pulled her closer. It might be just two. But two was enough to win a war in his experience. Two was enough to survive. He lost a friend, and she lost her love. But they still had one another — and he was certain that, in due time, they would find a way to help Bucky’s memory live on. Help people remember the hero. 

He was not going to let his friend’s death be in vain one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave me hate mail, I deserve it xo


End file.
